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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440890">Enough</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot'>LearnedFoot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Resurrected Tony Stark, Tony Stark is a mess, so many feelings, with feelings though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:28:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Peter deserves what he wants, but whatever he thinks he’s asking for with this kiss, Tony can’t offer</i>.</p><p><i>“I can’t be anything for you,” Tony gasps, pulling away. He brackets his hands on either side of Peter’s cheeks, forcing eye contact. He needs to understand. “Peter, I can’t, I can barely—I can’t even be anything for myself.</i>”</p><p>Or: Tony thinks he isn't enough. Peter disagrees.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Flash With Benefits</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts">Val_Creative</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Peter kisses him, Tony’s only been alive for a month. He’s drunk, because he’s always drunk, these days. He’s unsteady, not just on his feet but somewhere deeper, still reeling from emerging into a world where his life has come apart at the seams.</p><p>He kisses back, because it’s Peter: beautiful and bright and one of the few good things Tony has left. He kisses back because he wants to. Wants the taste of him, his warmth, his optimism—that crazy, incomprehensible optimism that somehow remains even after everything he’s been through. Most of all, he kisses back because he wants to give Peter what <em>he</em> wants. He deserves anything he asks for.</p><p>Except: Peter tastes like orange soda, and that makes Tony realize he must taste like gin, and doesn’t that say it all?</p><p>Peter deserves what he wants, but whatever he thinks he’s asking for with this kiss, Tony can’t offer.</p><p>“I can’t be anything for you,” he gasps, pulling away. He brackets his hands on either side of Peter’s cheeks, forcing eye contact. He needs to understand. “Peter, I can’t, I can barely—I can’t even be anything for myself.”</p><p>Peter’s eyes dart over his face, searching. Tony isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he finds something that makes him kiss Tony again.</p><p>“I don’t care,” Peter says when they separate, long minutes later. “I don’t need you to be anything. I just want you to want me.”</p><p>He cringes immediately, realizing what he’s said. Tony laughs and kisses him again. Stupid pop songs aside, he can do <em>that</em>.</p><p>Wanting Peter is easy.</p><p>***</p><p>Never let it be said Tony Stark is not a man of his word.</p><p>Months later, he still wants Peter, desperately. Has him, often. Makes it known he’s wanted in every way he can.</p><p>He whispers that he’s beautiful into his hair as he strokes him off on lazy mornings; growls how good he is as he thrusts into him late at night. He whistles with genuine pride when he reads over his thesis. Only two years of college, already he’s producing better work than most PhDs. (Peter blushes when he tells him that, lashes fluttering as he looks away, mumbling something about how Tony doesn’t have to be over the top about it. He’s not, for the record: it’s the simple truth.)</p><p>He uses more than words, too. He presses him against the wall as soon as he swings into Tony’s new penthouse in the evenings, kissing him until they’re both breathless. He licks down the length of him until he comes, often, then slides around to the other side and eats him out until he screams, wiping him down with a wet cloth after. He massages his shoulders after long patrols, curls around him as they drift to sleep, even learns how to make a decent scrambled egg because it’s Peter’s favorite breakfast after an athletic night of fighting or fucking or (most frequently) both.</p><p>Tony never asks where Peter goes on the evenings he doesn’t come over. He knows what <em>he</em> does: drinks and builds and tries not to think about how much he <em>doesn’t </em>want to know where Peter is. The idea of sharing him makes Tony sick; the idea of tying him down makes him sicker. He can’t ask for more until he can give more.</p><p>So he stays in a loop: wanting, giving, not asking.</p><p>***</p><p>Sometimes, for the briefest moments, he wonders if he’s selling himself short. If maybe he’s ready. But then something will throw him off balance. He’ll remember that he only gets to see his daughter on weekends (“Until you’re more stable, Tony,” Pepper explained when she proposed that rule, which is fair and right and <em>hurts</em> like a motherfucker). Or he’ll see a memorial for himself, or try to call Rhodey for a guy’s night only to be reminded that while his best friend loves him like a brother, he has a one-year-old at home now and can’t ditch his wife to go out drinking on no notice. Or sometimes he’ll just stub his toe when he’s already in a bad mood. Whatever.</p><p>Point is, it happens, all the damn time, and then he’s right back to staggering drunk or binging robotics and he knows he can’t be anything more than this. He <em>can’t</em>.</p><p>And “this” is nothing but disaster.</p><p>“You deserve better,” he sometimes murmurs against Peter’s lips, on nights when Peter finds him slumped over his desk in the lab and drags him to bed. “You deserve so much better than this.”</p><p>Peter’s answer is always the same: “Do you still want me?”</p><p>And Tony replies yes, of course, of course, <em>of course</em> and Peter smiles and says, “I can’t think of better than that.”</p><p>Tony can think of a million things better, but like he said at the start: he’ll give Peter whatever he asks for.</p><p>***</p><p>And then, a nightmare: Peter comes crashing into the penthouse with a stab wound in his side. He’s swaying, woozy; blood mats his suit, which is inexplicably sliced.</p><p>“Alien tech, it’s gotta be,” Peter gasps, voice wet, as he slides to the ground.</p><p>It’s every awful dream Tony’s had since his resurrection, but the worst part is he’s too drunk to do a damn thing about.</p><p>He tries, of course, but he’s as useless as Dum-E, stumbling to the kitchen and tearing open five different drawers before he finds the first aid kit. He almost trips over Peter when he runs to his side, spills the iodine trying to unscrew the top.</p><p>“Hey, hey, stop,” Peter says, hands curling around the bottle, pulling it from Tony’s grip. “It’s fine, I got it.”</p><p>“No, Pete, you’re hurt, I have to help.” He knocks the first aid kit as he reaches for the bandages, sending its contents sprawling across the floor. “Shit.”</p><p>Peter laughs, which is absurd, given his current state. “Tony, I love you, but you’re not helping right now.” He grabs a stray pack of antiseptic wipes and forces a smile. “I’m really okay, just give me a few minutes.”</p><p>But Tony is stuck a sentence back.</p><p><em>Tony, I love you</em>.</p><p>He opens his mouth, but can’t make words. Tries again, fails again, then gives up and runs to the roof instead.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s late fall, too cold to be outside without a jacket even on the ground; on top of Tony’s soaring apartment building the wind is brutal, whipping in bursts until he’s shivering uncontrollably.</p><p>Sobers him up like a charm, though. One problem: being sober leaves him no excuse for lingering, and yet here he is, fifteen minutes later, peering up at the thick dark of the sky, searching for stars. Absolutely no excuse but this: he’s terrified. Imagine that.</p><p>He’s always hated the phrase “three little words.” It’s trite and coy and stupid. But right now, there’s no other way he can think of it. Three little words, and his whole world is on its head again.</p><p>“He probably didn’t mean it,” he tells the sky, as if it can answer back. He should really install speakers for F.R.I.D.A.Y. out here. “Not like that. It was a joke. ‘I love you, but you’re an idiot.’ It’s just a thing the kids say, right?”</p><p>“I did mean it, actually.”</p><p>Tony snaps around to see Peter emerging onto the roof, wearing oversized sweatpants and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. Tony’s clothing, even though Peter has plenty of his own tucked away in a spare drawer. He picked Tony’s clothing. On purpose.</p><p>“Fuck,” Tony replies. He has to lift his voice over the wind. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Superpowers are cheating.”</p><p>Peter shuffles across the space between them, moving slowly but not limping. When he’s standing a foot away he stops and shivers, violently, which is when Tony notices he isn’t wearing shoes, or even socks. Idiot.</p><p>“I meant it,” Peter repeats. “I didn’t mean to say it then, but I meant it.”</p><p>His eyes are bright against the dark of the night. Some absurd part of Tony’s brain thinks, <em>Oh, found the stars I’ve been looking for</em>.</p><p>“Peter…” He wants to protest that he doesn’t mean it, that he can’t really, but he sees the stubborn set of his jaw. Tony learned a long time ago not to question Peter Parker when he’s determined. “You shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Tough.” Suddenly, Peter’s hands are on his waist, tugging him closer. “I do.” He pauses, taking in a gulp of air before adding, “You still want me, right?”</p><p>Just the slightest, tiniest sliver of uncertainty slips in, and Tony can’t stop himself from kissing him, a light peck of reassurance.</p><p>“Always. But I don’t deserve you, kid.”</p><p>“Yeah you do.” Peter wraps him in a hug, warm against the wind. He rubs his nose into Tony’s collarbone. “Of course you do.”</p><p>Tony scoffs. It’s so obviously untrue.</p><p>“You came to me for help tonight, and I was useless. The first time you really needed me, since...” Since death, resurrection. Since they started whatever this thing is. “Since all of it. You needed me and I failed you.”</p><p>He can feel Peter vigorously shake his head, hair tickling against Tony’s neck.</p><p>“I didn’t come here for help, Tony.”</p><p>“But—“ Wait, that makes no sense. “What?”</p><p>“I could patch myself up at home,” Peter explains, in a tone like talking to a toddler. He lifts his head, kissing Tony’s cheek before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “I came here because I wanted you to hold me tonight. Can you do that?”</p><p>He—</p><p><em>What</em>?</p><p>He can’t possibly mean that. And yet, those eyes are still bright, and that jaw is still so fucking stubborn. And doesn’t Tony know better than to question Peter Parker?</p><p>“Tony?” Peter repeats. “Can you hold me tonight?”</p><p>“Obviously.” The word comes out shaking. The world is swimming. Why is the world suddenly swimming?</p><p>Oh. <em>Tears</em>. Yeah, okay. He’s handling this great.</p><p>Peter, on the other hand, is beaming. He kisses Tony’s nose. “And do you think you can make me eggs in the morning?”</p><p>Tony nods, not trusting his own voice.</p><p>“Then that’s enough.” Peter’s hands are suddenly on the sides of Tony’s face, cradling him, gentle. “Tony, I promise, it’s enough.”</p><p><em>It’s not</em>, Tony doesn’t say, because Peter clearly doesn’t want to argue about this, and Peter always gets what he wants.</p><p>Always. That’s the one thing Tony can promise.</p><p>***</p><p>He holds Peter tight that night, soothed by the sound of his steady breathing, but doesn’t fall asleep himself. He’s too busy planning the best god damn scrambled egg breakfast the world has ever seen. And planning for after that: a walk in the park, a movie, an entire day without drinking.</p><p>And doing it again the next day. And as many days as he can until he fucks up. And then again after that, until he fucks up less.</p><p>God, he hopes he can fuck up less. He’s going to try.</p><p>It’s not nearly enough, no matter what Peter says.</p><p>But it’s a start.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, feedback is loved &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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